


Never Before and Never Since

by starlurker



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-25 00:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlurker/pseuds/starlurker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad walked into his house and noticed a chill in the air and the smell of old, dried blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Before and Never Since

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Generation Kill Halloween Fest, using oxoniensis' prompt that asked for Brad/Nate with Nate as the vampire, Brad as human.

**609**

Brad walked into his house and noticed a chill in the air and the smell of old, dried blood.

"Nate?" he called out.

He went into his bedroom and felt his training kick in as he saw Nate on the floor near the food of his bed, lying in a slowly expanding circle of rust red. Brad kneeled beside Nate's prone figure and saw that the blood was coming out of Nate's mouth and chest.

"I'm fine," Nate gurgled out. Brad felt flecks of blood go on his face.

"What happened?"

"Schwetje," Nate said. Brad nodded. He grabbed Nate by the armpits and leaned him against the bed to make it easier for Nate to drink.

"Here," he whispered to Nate, offering his wrist. Green eyes turned to yellow before turning green again, and he didn't feel the prick of fangs, just the smooth, delirious sensation of blood leaving his body to trickle into someone alive in every way that mattered except one.

Nate didn't need much. After a few minutes, the healthy pallor in his face came back and his eyes filled with that spark that Brad could never resist.

"Don't look like that," Nate said quietly. He smoothed a hand over Brad's cheek.

"Like what?"

"Sad," Nate said. "I'll always be OK, for the most part."

"First impressions."

Nate smiled, the edges of it lined with a familiar sadness.

**7,386**

"This is a joke, right?"

"If it is, it's on me too," Nate said, his eyes wide.

"An electric motorcycle? I've put up with a lot of shit from these fucking environmentalists, but this is bullshit," Brad said. "What can this piece of crap do, 70 on a good day? Fuck that." He turned back to the rental agency. Nate followed and placed a cool hand on the small of Brad's back, and Brad felt his temper subside, just a little bit.

**35**

At night, the sand glowed like the cleanest and purest of pearls. The air was cool, a pleasant bite on his skin that rendered the scorching days a hellish memory. Even with all this light though, Brad had problems looking for a patch of red.

"Why are we looking for a patch of red?" Ray asked.

"I thought we agreed that you'd keep quiet."

"That was before, when I thought you just needed a combat jack, not a shrink."

Brad stopped in his tracks. "If you have problems with what I asked a favor for, Ray, you can go back now."

"Sorry, sorry," Ray said, arms up and palms out. He squinted, and Brad was about to insult him when Ray pointed behind him.

A patch of red on the sand. Brad swallowed too loudly for his liking.

"Thanks, Ray." He closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down.

"What's going on, Brad?" Ray's voice was serious. Level. No evidence of Ripped Fuel, or if there was, he pissed it out a while ago.

"Lucky charm," Brad said. "Let's head back."

Ray held his tongue for five minutes. Brad was impressed -- he was already laying odds on when Ray would talk.

"You owe me," Ray said.

**230**

Brad leaned back on the cool silken wall that was Nate's chest, his overheated body gradually calming down. The sheets were a tangled mess around them, and streaks of lube were still visible on the fabric when Nate lost patience and tore the tube in half. Brad would have laughed if he hadn't been desperate and begging at the time.

"You know," Nate started, and Brad couldn't help but feel a shameful amount of pride at the amazement layered in Nate's voice, "I'm always astounded that you can keep up."

In the reptilian part of Brad's mind, he wondered about the people who didn't astonish Nate, the ones who couldn't match the pace.

In the (mostly) rational part of his mind, he preened just a little bit.

They've done this long enough that Nate knows the pattern. "Out with it already," he said. "What country, what year."

Brad thought about the places he hadn't heard about yet. He was sick of the desert, of the heat, of the unrelenting sun that could disintegrate the cool flesh behind him.

"Sweden," Brad said. "1800s."

"You'll probably be surprised by this," Nate said. "It was cold." Brad laughed and listened as Nate's story wound back and forth through time.

**2,765**

Brad stood at the top of the Eiffel Tower. He just felt like it. He was expecting more from this place, but he didn't expect to hate Paris and Parisians as much he ended up actually hating them for no good reason that he can figure out.

He'll hit Romania tomorrow, Russia after that. He'll spend months in Ulan Bator, Mongolia and he'll be known as the White Death in two official languages and several dialects. After that, he'll hit Kenya and detour to Madagascar and feel depressed at how even more barren it has become after his last visit. He'll fly back to South America and spend time in Chile, head back up to Bolivia and spend some time in Potosi.

Time was his enemy now, and in ways he hasn't figured out yet, it's a bizarre thrill, that he'll have an enemy he can never beat but can outsmart just by existing.

It never made up for the feel of the sun on his back as he crested a wave.

**183**

Coming back was always a clusterfuck. He hadn't fully unpacked yet when his doorbell rang. Brad opened his door and found Nate standing there, fidgeting, as if not quite sure of the welcome he would get.

"Come in," Brad said deliberately.

Nate's brilliant smile was a reward, something Brad hadn't had much of a chance to see in the days that he'd known him. The air around the door shimmered like rippling water.

"Thank you," Nate said and walked in, and Brad knew at that moment that he would let Nate turn him. It was just a matter of when.

**1,000**

At 12:00am, like a perverse Cinderella joke, Brad crashed back to reality. He'd just had the one of the best nights in his existence, but this pattern was pretty typical of his life.

Schwetje lay dead on the dirt floor, his headless body still convulsing after Nate ripped his head off and flung it off like a balled up piece of paper. The tent that Nate had helped him put up once the sun went down was almost completely destroyed, precariously hanging on to one peg.

Brad's vision was beginning to cloud over. The pain in his chest was too much -- he wasn't a wimp, but being impaled with a tree branch was new on his list. Maybe he said that out loud, because he heard Nate speak.

"No," he heard Nate say, in a voice Brad never wanted to hear again.

 _No_ , Brad thought. _Don't do it, you promised, you promised, no, don't--_

He felt blood trickle down his mouth, and as he got stronger he felt something in him break anyway.

**73**

"What are you even doing here?" Brad asked. "You could be anywhere, doing anything. Why fucking here, of all the goddamned places in the world?"

Nate looked at him, calm and collected. "I want to help," he answered. "It's really that simple."

**999**

The sun had descended over the horizon, enough so that Nate could join him on the shore, but it was still early enough that the lake was warm from the punishing heat hours before. Nate said that he was about 24 when he was turned, but right now, he looked like he was 16, especially with his hair slicked back. Even with him being hundreds of years older, there were moments like this one when Brad felt like a pervert being with someone who looked so fucking young.

"You're not a pervert," Nate said, doing that mindreading crap that Brad _hated_ except in bed. "If anything," he continued, "I'm the gross pervert here. I'm five hundred years older than you are." The stray beams of sun haloed Nate's head, and Brad felt blinded -- he could never get over how perfect Nate could look.

Judging by the smile on his face, that thought was broadcast loud and clear too. To spare himself from further embarrassment, Brad went to the water, going deep enough until the water was to his neck.

"You know what this pervert can do though?" Nate asked from the shore. Brad turned to look as Nate leaped into the water, as he got closer and closer.

"What?" Brad made sure his voice didn't crack.

"I can hold my breath for a very long time," Nate said, intent clear on his face, and sank. Brad felt his trunks pulled down, and as his toes curled into the soft, loamy bed of the lake, he tilted his head towards the setting sun, his vision turning into red and gold.

**1**

At the tail end of a night time raid, a pale kid in mismatched fatigues popped out from nowhere and stepped in front of a bullet meant for Brad. The bullet went through the kid's throat and he died instantly.

"Where the fuck did he come from?" Brad heard Ray yell. "What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck!"

Brad dragged the kid's body behind the Humvee and put his ear to the unmoving chest, trying to hear a heartbeat even though he knew better. The whizzing of bullets and the roar of engines receded into the background. The body was already so cold.

"Thank you," he whispered, blinking away the grit in his eyes.

THE END


End file.
